


requiem

by tysunkete (aozu)



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aozu/pseuds/tysunkete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post canon AU. </p><p>Three years after the war, they find Lavi. But it’s not Lavi anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	requiem

**Author's Note:**

> I will be cross posting some DGM fics over to AO3-- in the meantime, my DGM fic collection is over at [tysunkete on ff](https://www.fanfiction.net/~tysunkete).
> 
> This was written for the prompt: bookman jr meeting up with allen and kanda but he’s all off and really distant and this irritates kanda to the point where he picks him up by the collar, slams him against a wall and snarls out a “stop fucking around, lavi”, and he just shakes him off and says “lavi is gone.”

 

Three years later in  _La Sagrada Familia_ , Barcelona, Spain, Kanda catches a glimpse of blood red at the corner of his eye and immediately stills. He squashes the first thought that flashes across his mind—something known to be impossible such that it becomes fleeting, because they’ve been proven wrong, time and time again. The second and more lasting assumption is that the colour is a refraction from the stained glass decorating the windows of the impressive minor basilica, the luminous glow bathing the church in an indescribable aura. But the colour isn’t from the window, it’s from someone standing in front of it, looking up at the painted glass. It’s  _hair_ . For the next second Kanda thinks it’s Cross Marian, but that’s stupid; the general has been dead for three years. He should know. They buried the body on the Order’s grounds as per Allen’s decision—the general would’ve hated it so much, but would’ve too, wanted it. But it’s a person, and it’s hair, and there only has been two people he ever knew that had that kind of hue—actually, only  _one_ —the general’s had been darker, not as fiery as the flames of fire. It brings him back to his first thought: but that’s impossible.

Impossible, impossible, _impossible_.

“Kanda, hey,” Allen waves a hand in front of his face, and Kanda blinks, shooting a side eye to the younger. “What are you staring at? Let’s go.”

Abruptly he notices that the cardinal they were talking to has gone, and Allen looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Were you listening at all?”

“Whatever,” Kanda mutters.

It’s been three years after the war, but they’re still travelling around on missions. Things are the same and yet different—there is no Earl, there are no Noahs, but there are still akuma lingering around to be eradicated. They have yet to locate the last of the akuma factory. There is still the Order but it’s only the European headquarters now. The group of finders are much smaller and exorcists come up to seven—two Generals, Cloud Nyne and him, with the rest: Lenalee, Timothy, Miranda, Marie, and the infamous Destroyer of Time, who is currently rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Everything the cardinal said checks out with the report Komui gave us. There’s definitely an akuma ring here. Come on, we should head on to Casa Vicens,” Allen says, but pauses when he realises Kanda isn’t listening to him again. “Kanda. _Kanda.”_

The white haired teen squints in the direction that the other is looking at, noting people milling in front of the large stained glass window. His eye stays silent so there isn’t an akuma lurking about, and before he opens his mouth to ask what’s so interesting, Kanda walks off in that direction briskly.

Allen blinks and hurries after Kanda’s heel, confused. “Hey—“

The general ignores him and walks even faster with a determined direction towards a figure standing still, looking up and admiring the painted glass. Allen frowns and reaches his hand out with the intention to grab on to Kanda’s coat to halt the weird behaviour, but when he’s three steps away from the person, his paces stop.

Kanda, however, does no such thing. The swordsman roughly grabs on to the person’s arm and yanks the other. _Hard_.

The long red hair sweep with the movement of being turned so suddenly around. It’s not same as they remember—it’s so much longer, tied into a ponytail at the nape with the front bangs sweeping his chin with no bandana to hold it in place, but the eyes—the _eye_ , it’s still the same emerald green. The leather eye patch is now a white breathable one, the orange scarf is replaced by a muted grey. The coat is long, black, but nothing like the exorcist uniforms that they have.

It’s been three years, but Allen recognises the face immediately when he sees it. It’s sharper than he remembers, more mature, but it doesn’t change the familiarity settling into his gut.

“…Lavi?” he whispers under his breath, unbelieving.

It’s been three years since Lavi and Bookman were captured by the Noah and no one has seen either since. Not during the final battle, when they searched every single base they knew the Earl had kept. Not even after, where they spent nearly a year just searching for them. Lavi and Bookman are officially recorded as dead in the Order’s files and given a ceremonial burial, and none of them will admit to still keeping a lookout during their missions.

Kanda keeps his grip almost painful on the arm that he’s grasped, trying to quell the tremble that’s inevitable as he stares at the other with pressed lips in silence. The redhead they have in audience startles, eye rapidly blinking.

For the next two minutes no one says anything.

Kanda watches the redhead flicker his gaze to their uniforms, across his face, and then towards Allen behind him, and then back again to his uniform, more specifically, the badge of the Order. The scrutiny is methodical. For three years he hasn’t seen a glimpse of Lavi’s face except in cold echoes in his mind, and finally looking at it again, it’s not how he remembers. He doesn’t feel a rush of finality like he’s always assumed when— _if_ he ever sees the other again. There is something missing, still missing. And Kanda doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, staring at the redhead in silence, but maybe something _more_ than the calm dissection of his form.

“…What do you want?” The redhead finally says, and Kanda’s hold involuntarily tightens.

The tone isn’t rude or dismissive, it’s actually _curious_ , and it’s not really the words that throw him off either. It’s the _accent_. This is Lavi. This _is_ Lavi, he knows it, but it’s not. Lavi spoke with a nasal tinge with a curl of the letters around his tongue. There was always an automatic annoyance that Kanda feels when he hears it. Instead, now he hears a British accent. The words are pronounced clean and crisp. It’s just _wrong_ from the mouth that speaks it. He doesn’t feel the annoyance he’s been waiting for. A sour taste curls at the back of his throat.

“…It’s you, right?” Allen steps closer, voice wavering. “You know us.”

The redhead shifts his gaze over. “Sure. Allen,” he nods, eye swivelling back to the one who hasn’t let go. “Kanda.”

“Oh my god,” Allen breathes softly, swallowing. “I-I…can’t believe it.”

The younger exorcist crosses the three steps and launches himself at the other, hugging him tight around the neck. The position allows the redhead to shake off the hold Kanda has on him subtly, but their eyes meet and Kanda _knows_ the movement is deliberate. Standing a step away Kanda watches Allen cling on to the redhead, but the redhead doesn’t return the gesture, he only pats the other on the shoulder once.

Kanda bites down on his bottom lip so hard it bleeds.

 “Where have you been?” Allen asks when he pulls back, grin splitting his face. “How—where—how…— _where_?” he demands.

Lavi—if it is—curls up the corner of his lips, but it’s not truly a smile either. “Around,” he says simply. “I was in Portugal last week.”

“No, I meant—“ Allen shakes his head. “I meant…what happened?” At the questioning head tilt he gets in return, he presses, shushed. “You were captured. How did you get away? Where’s Bookman?”

Lavi shrugs vaguely. “I got out. I’m Bookman now, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Allen swallows minutely. “…I’m sorry. God, it’s been _three years_ , why didn’t you come back? We thought you were…gone.”

The redhead shakes his head. “There wasn’t any reason for me to return to the Order, so I didn’t. I’m alright. I see that you two are too. And you’ve been promoted to general,” he comments, gaze flickering to Kanda. “Surprising, but then again, not really. Congratulations, Kanda.”

 _Three years_. Three fucking years, and he gets _this_?

For those few months after Alma he hadn’t thought of anyone back in the Order, until he knew he had to return. There were too many things going on then—the search for Allen, the attack by Apocryphos, his promotion to general, the dark secrets of the Vatican church—it was late by the time he learned that Lavi and Bookman were captured by the Noah, possibly tortured. He doesn’t owe the Order anything, but for the redhead who always hung around him and the old man he sometimes mediated with over the years; more victims to this stupid war that had already made him lose so much, lose _Alma_ , he refuses to add more to the list.

But despite his general status he couldn’t move around like he wanted. There was too much distrust from the church in him. Even so he made diversions wherever possible to look for them, but he was going off on nothing—no one knew where they were. The most likely place was the heart of wherever the Noah’s main base were, but months passed and the fighting wore on and eventually the final battle came into play; and after, on the worn torn battlefield with Allen unconscious over the Earl’s dead body, Miranda cradling Lenalee in a time shield at a corner, Kanda ignores the bloody gash on his thigh that doesn’t heal at its rapid pace anymore and kicks through the rubble for the flash of red he’s been holding out for.

But nothing.

A month later with Lenalee and Marie, they travel to the other minor bases of known akuma gatherings to seek and destroy, but again, nothing. Several months in, it’s an unspoken goal to retrieve the two missing persons alongside their missions in cleaning up akuma activity. A year passes and _still_ nothing.

Komui stopped saying ‘bring them back’ when they are dismissed from mission briefings. Kanda isn’t sure if the rest of the exorcists just gave up at that time—only Lenalee tells him quietly as they watch the city alight in the distance at night on the rooftop that she hasn’t. But yet another year pass and a ceremonial burial is held. The highest likelihood was that they were never going to find them, because they couldn’t be found anymore. And it made him angry to see Lenalee and Allen sobbing in front of the two empty caskets, to see everyone else with their heads tilted down silent respect. Furious even, to find himself standing in between the coffins in the middle of the night, with a painful clench in his chest.

It’s not like Lavi and he were close. Kanda can’t even really say that they were _friends_. But he grew up with Lavi, the only other person in this whole place that was his age—the stupid things that the other always pulled him to do for _years_ —and the thought that his surroundings just echo with dead silence now churns a sickening lurch in his gut. The annoying rabbit, dead? All the times that Kanda has tried to kill the redhead in the past, the other doesn’t die, so why now? He won’t believe it until he sees a dead body.

It’s been three years and it’s still weird that when he’s eating, there is no inappropriate teasing remark about how much soba he eats. It’s weird when he’s mediating or practising his katas, no one comes to annoy him. It’s weird that when he dozes on trains, no one tries to braid his hair. It’s weird that when he’s walking along the corridor, no one yells his name from the distance and runs to sling an arm around his shoulder. It’s weird that he keeps looking over his shoulder or to the empty train seat across and expecting to see red hair, expecting to hear that annoying voice. It’s weird that in the past three years, he hasn’t heard his first name.

_Congratulations, Kanda._

Wrong, wrong, wrong. He suddenly feels like throwing up.

Grabbing onto the redhead’s coat collar, he jerks the other close roughly, fists clenched tight around the fabric.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Kanda snarls through grinded teeth.

“Kanda!” Allen calls, alarmed in the background. “Put him down, what are you doing?”

“Stop fucking pretending nothing is wrong, beansprout,” he growls, not bothering to look back. “Don’t fuck with me, _Lavi_ ,” he repeats, bile at the back of his throat.

“We’re still in the cathedral!” Allen hisses at the side.

The redhead peers up at the general who’s close to choking him, and places a gentle hand over the grip on his collar that’s trembling minutely.

“I’m not ‘Lavi’. He isn’t here anymore.”

It’s the _way_ it’s said; a matter of fact, a semantic statement that makes Kanda freeze.

Allen begins carefully from the side. “…What do you mean?”

“The persona you knew as ‘Lavi’ is gone,” the other explains calmly. “He was only ever a personality created to fit in, anyway,” he states, shrugging.

“What the fuck? Stop playing stupid games, you fucking rabbit,” Kanda hisses.

Something must’ve shown in Kanda’s glare, because the redhead pauses. “Oh. Another surprise. I never thought _you_ would care.”

Maybe Kanda didn’t, but the three years of constantly looking over his shoulder and meeting blank space—Allen yells his name when he rears his fist back and makes a solid connection to _Lavi’s_ cheek. The punch isn’t enough to ease how pissed off he is—he’s ready for the next, but Allen grabs on to his arms and holds him back. He’s still seething as the redhead peers at him with a hand clutched to his left cheek that’s starting to swell.

A man in robes step up between them, frowning. “Sirs, I’m sorry but I have to ask you to leave.”

“Tch,” Kanda surveys the people who are watching his outburst quietly and breathes out a controlled breath. “Fine.”

He shrugs Allen off roughly and snatches the redhead’s wrist.

“Sir—“

“It’s okay,” the redhead quips to the protesting cardinal as he’s being hauled off to the exit by the general, feet dragging from the rapid pace.

“Kanda!” Allen shouts, running after them out of the cathedral, following the duo to the back courtyard. “Kanda—“

“ _No_ ,” Kanda abruptly stops, swivelling on his heel once they are alone outside. He takes a sharp inhale. “Three years.”

Allen breathes out slowly. “I know.”

“Three _fucking_ years—“

 “I know,” Allen murmurs.

“—and _this_ is what we get?” Kanda barks a harsh laugh, hand gesturing to the redhead’s general direction. “Fuck you,” he grinds out. “Fuck you, Lavi, this isn’t funny.”

 “I didn’t say it was,” the redhead replies, giving his sore cheek a last rub. “Look, Kanda—“

“You fucking asshole, you always used my first name when I told you not to,” Kanda snarls. “Why the fucking change of heart?”

The redhead presses his lips together, taking a calm outbreath. “Look,” he starts again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I truly am. But I’m not ‘Lavi’ anymore. ‘Lavi’ is gone, you have to understand that.”

“I didn’t wait three fucking years for this shit.”

“I’m sorry,” the redhead says again, and Kanda clenches his fists so tight, his nails bleed into his palms.

“Fuck you, Lavi.”

“I told you, I’m not ‘Lavi’—“

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Kanda hisses, eyes blazing. “You’re _sorry_?” he snorts, tone incredulous. “Are you? You’re just being a fucking coward.”

“…You’re selfish, you know that?” the redhead says eventually. “You never came for him and now you want him back.”

“Never came for you?” Kanda repeats, tone dark. “I— _we_ never stopped looking for you. I’ve been to _every single fucking continent_ because of—“ he breaks off sharply, inhaling roughly, “—you dare, you _dare_ fucking tell me that I’ve never wasted my goddamn time looking for you for three fucking years—“

“And that doesn’t matter, does it?” the redhead interrupts. “You failed, and ‘Lavi’ had to go,” he continues, tone unplaced.

At that, both Kanda and Allen still.

“That’s right. You have no idea what the Noahs did to him. Day after day, night after night, his mind was splitting. He believed in you guys, you know, even though he wasn’t supposed to. He held on, but you guys never came. _No one_ came. And he gave up,” the redhead states simply. “I took over to stay alive. So when you asked: am I sorry? No. No, I’m not because I had to live. But am I sorry?” he glances at Kanda before looking away, pausing briefly. “Yes, because you love him.”

“… _Bullshit_ ,” Kanda swears, baring his teeth as he lashes out to punch the redhead again.

“Kanda!” Allen shouts, grabbing the general by the back.

It’s hard to hold back someone as tough and unyielding as Kanda, and Allen struggles under the thrashing movements and curses that fill the air. His fingers dig into Kanda’s uniform as he holds on tightly, but his face is buried into Kanda’s back, and he squeezes his eyes shut to prevent the prickling of tears at the corners.

“That’s enough!”

“I’m going fucking kill him—“

“That’s _enough_!” Allen repeats, voice trembling, edges almost cracking. “T-that’s enough, Kanda.”

Kanda deflates in his hold, as if the other is suddenly worn. Allen feels the same, salty liquid dripping down the side of his cheek.

He still remembers the first time he meets Lavi, the redhead coolly pressed against the doorframe with a wide smile. _I’m Lavi. Nice to meet you._ A nice teenage boy, such a contrast to Kanda. He should’ve been delighted, but the redhead’s smile made him wary. It didn’t match the calm gleam in the other’s eye. But he couldn’t judge because he was the same—he smiled to hide sorrow, and he understood over the years that Lavi smiled to hide solemnity. As Lavi, _Lavi_ was nice, and with time the smile he wore around the redhead became less of a lie and more of a truth, and he could see it was the same for Lavi too. They were friends, buddies, but when the fourteenth took over Cross was right, he was going to lose everyone he loved. He thought about everyone back in the Order as he lived as a fugitive, as he ran more from Kanda who came to find him, as he unearthed the horrible truths of the Vatican, but he didn’t think that Lavi and Bookman would be missing from them all. Bringing down the Earl was his main aim—only after, dazed in the hospital wing from a three week coma that he learns about his captured comrades.

Is it his fault that he has failed his one of his dearest friends? There are things that the Destroyer of Time cannot do, no matter how desperately he wants to. He joins in the search party for Lavi when Komui finally releases him back into the field. Like everyone left, he held hope—the Bookman duo had to be somewhere, but two years pass and neither of them were parasitic exorcists; in an akuma attack, there is no body to be found. He doesn’t want to cry at the ceremonial burial, but he sees Lenalee grasping at her chest choking back tears and sees the empty space between them where Lavi would’ve inserted himself in to hug them both by the necks—he cries, he cries hard.

It’s been three years and Allen still sees Lenalee sitting alone on the rooftop at night sometimes, head between her knees, frame shaking. He still sees Miranda and Marie standing in front of the graves in the gardens sometimes, with flowers in their hands and heads bowed low. He still sees Kanda glancing over his shoulder at sudden times, staring at the empty train seat across him, pausing whenever they pass anyone with red hair—and then the anger, the _hurt_ that flashes when the other realises it’s not who he’s expecting to see.

_Lavi’s gone._

The redhead takes two steps forward closer to Kanda who refuses to lift his head. The Bookman’s expression is mostly neutral, but with a tinge of sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” the other says finally, and he hesitates unsurely before saying the last word. “Yuu.”

* * *

_**Fin.** _

 


End file.
